Language Barrier
by Captain-Cathers
Summary: America and Britain can never agree when it comes to the English language... Canada and France get drawn into the conflict as well. Germany plans on killing them all after the meeting ends. One-shot; contains lots of language nerdiness.


"...And that concludes my report on recent pollution levels in Beijing," said China, perhaps a bit more gruffly than usual. His speech, which was already painful enough to deliver, was interrupted throughout by badly timed remarks from the American across the conference table.

"Wait, wait, wait," the annoyance in question said, holding his hands up in a 'hold on' gesture. "Your recent air-quality index reading was..." -he glanced down at his notes- "755? Dude, that's higher than mine during a forest fire."

China's calm facade was ruined only by the way his hands shook as he smoothed out his papers. "I am well aware of that fact, _aru_."  
"That's, like, really bad."

"Yes," the Chinese man said, not trusting himself to say anything else. He was the oldest, the most mature of all the nations. He wasn't about to lose his temper to a little-

"And you said it was just fog or whatever before? That's like the police finding a dead body in your trunk and you claiming it was just a bit of dust."

China let all of his breath out in a hiss. "That comparison doesn't even make any sense, America."

The other countries were used to America's use of nonsensical similes, but England took offense for an entirely different reason.

"A dead body in the what?"

The American cut off his retort to China and swiveled to face the Englishman. "The trunk, you know, like the back part of a car."

England laughed, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Oh, you mean the boot."

"What? No, the trunk. T-R-U-N-K. We aren't talking about shoes."

"The back part of a car isn't called the 'trunk'," England said with disgust. "It's called the boot, as any proper English speaker would know."

"That looks nothing like a boot!" America yelled, wildly gesticulating at a car parked outside the window.

"Well, it looks nothing like a trunk, either!"

"ENOUGH!" Germany slammed his fist on the table. "God knows this conversation has happened plenty of times before." He glared at the two of them, as if daring them to speak. When the two English speakers said nothing, he continued. "We should get back to the issue at hand. China?"

"America, would you pass the plate of biscuits?" England's eyes glimmered with a hint of mischief rarely seen since his pirating days.

"I'm sorry, I don't see any plates of soft, flaky, buttery goodness on the table. Perhaps you meant... A COOKIE?" America seemed to brandish the word as one would a weapon.

England stood up rapidly, knocking his chair to the ground. "THOSE," he snapped, pointing at the plate in the middle of the table, and a terrified Italy reaching for it, "ARE BISCUITS!"

America stood up as well, towering over the older nation. "COOKIES!"

"BISCUITS!"

"COOKIES!"

Germany shouted something at the two bickering nations, and China mumbled something incoherent under his breath, but it was lost in the din that had overtaken the small conference room.

"CANADA!" America blurted suddenly, turning to face the near-invisible blonde. He was in the process of backing towards the door very slowly, hoping not to be remembered as another English-speaking country. "...Yes?"

"What do you call cookies?" he asked smugly. Canada stared with terror at the two world powers, weighing his options. At least England was across the ocean from his place...  
"...c-cookies," he whispered into the sudden silence.

"YES!" America leaped into the air and began some sort of victory dance.

England was not one to back down. "That's absurd. You don't cook biscuits. You bake them."

"Well, you don't call them bakeys, do you? And you can't biscuit cookies, either."

England had one card left to play, and he did so, staring his ex-colony in the eye. "Who raised you, and clothed you, and TAUGHT YOU ENGLISH? ME. DON'T YOU GO CORRUPTING MY LANGUAGE, YOU LITTLE UPSTART!"

"I DIDN'T CORRUPT IT, I MADE IT BETTER!"

"WHY YOU-"

"COME AT ME, OLD MAN!"

England was about to strangle the younger nation when a thought came to him. "Canada?" he asked calmly, nothing like his previous rage. Canada moped back to the table from his position halfway out of the room. "...Yes?" he asked for the second time.

England smiled at him, strongly resembling the Cheshire Cat. "What is the last letter of the alphabet?"

Canada relaxed; he had gotten off easy. "It's 'zed', simple."

America did a double take. "Wait, what? I know the last letter of the alphabet is 'zee'."

Canada looked skeptically at his twin. "Sorry, I know it's 'zed'. I guess even 'world powers' like you get things wrong occasionally, eh?"

America turned very slowly, fully facing the northern nation. "'Zee.' I know this for certain." His voice had changed from the annoying pitch he had adopted for his argument with Britain to a much more serious tone.

"'Zeeeeeed.'" Canada narrowed his eyes.

"'Zee!'"

"'Zed!'"

"'ZEE!'"

"'ZED!'"

England mentally cursed himself. He had thought being proven wrong by Canada would stop America in his tracks, but it had instead led to a louder American and an irate Canadian. "Well, that's enough, now," he said, chuckling nervously. Only Germany heard him speak and fixed him with his 'I-will-kill-you-when-this-meeting-ends' glare.

"IT'S 'ZEE'! LIKE EVERY OTHER LETTER OF THE FREAKING ALPHABET! 'BEE', 'CEE', 'DEE', 'EE'-"

"'ZED' IS UNIQUE, LIKE 'DOUBLE-U'!"

While the other nations were gawking at the rare sight of a furious Canadian outside of a hockey game, France chose this time to chip in. "_Excusez-moi_, but did I hear you say... 'double-u'?"

"Y-yeah," said America, breaking off his argument with Canada to look at the Frenchman. "It's the" -America thought for a moment- "twenty-third letter of the alphabet. Don't Frenchies have one, too?"

"Of course we do! We just call it '_double-ve_', like any cultured person does."

"Doo-blay-what?"

France winced at the butchered French spilling out of the American's mouth. "'_Double-ve_', not... whatever you just said. It means 'double vee', in your... language." He sneered slightly. Speaking English was probably ruining his complexion, or something.

"Double... vee?" This time it was Canada, pronouncing it in English. "I guess that sort of makes sense," he conceded, trying to draw away from the conversation now that he had lost his temper. How embarrassing...

"Well, I think that's stupid," said America.

"Finally, something we can both agree on." England scowled at his old enemy.

France narrowed his eyes, but proceeded to pull a pad of paper toward him instead of rising to the bait. He drew a large 'V' in clear, precise writing, and held it up to the two remaining English speakers. "'_Ve_'," he said, as condescendingly as possible. He then drew a second 'V', turning the sketch into a 'W'. "'_Double-ve_.' Two 'vees'. Any questions?"

America snatched the pad of paper out of France's hands and proceeded to draw a 'W' with curved edges. "Double - YOU."

"_C'est ridicule_! That looks like a drawing of someone's posterior! And a crude one, at that."

"You think everything looks like a posterior!" England shouted.

"Your FACE looks like a poster- wait, why don't you just say 'ass' like everyone else does?"

"America, you-"

"ALL OF YOU, SHUT UP!" Germany roared, finally silencing the errant nations. He pointed out the window at the parked car. "_Kofferraum_." He then pointed to the plate of baked goods sitting on the table. "_Kekse_." He held up the drawing of the 'W'. "'_Ve_.'" Finally, he pointed to the three quarreling nations. "_Dummköpfe_. Is that understood?"

All three nations hurriedly nodded their assent and seated themselves once more. Germany smoothed his notes out in front of him. "Alright, where were we?"

The conference room went silent for the first time that afternoon. Where had they been? Russia, who had been smiling calmly during the previous chaos, cleared his throat. "Something about a dead body in China's... in the back of China's car, _da_?"

"Boot," growled England.

"Trunk," hissed America.

"Pasta!" chirped Italy.

Germany's head sunk into his hands.

* * *

**And that concludes my first Hetalia fanfic! Please tell me what you think; constructive criticism is encouraged! I typed this thing out in the middle of the night, so if you find any mistakes _please _let me know!**

**For reference:**  
**_Excusez-moi = _Excuse/pardon me**  
**_C'est ridicule = _That's ridiculous**  
**_Kofferraum = _trunk/boot**  
**_Kekse _= cookies/biscuits**  
**_Dummköpfe = _idiots/fools**

**(I'm American, that probably shows in the fic. I hope none of you were offended by my portrayals of the countries; I really do love them all.)**

**For anyone who was wondering, Japan was sensing the mood and refraining from speaking.**


End file.
